Momento in Ténebris
by DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: When you spend as much time in darkness as Jack Benjamin does, you begin to know how it feels. But if he is to be King, with power to wield over light and dark, why not start bending the rules now? (Jack/Joseph)


**AN: **I was having Jack feels again and found this old thing. Seeing as I'm not going to be fanfic writing for a few days, thought I'd pop this up as an 'interlude' of sorts. (Does that make sense? I have no clue...) I only wish I knew how to make it longer :-( Title means 'moment in darkness' (Google Translate).

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Momento in Ténebris

Jack Benjamin has kissed a lot of people. He's kissed women in the blinding lights of clubs and cameras. He's kissed men in the safety of shadows and darkness. Out of the hundreds of kisses he's experienced it's the handful shared with men he prefers. In that comparatively small handful, there's one man he could kiss again and again and never get bored.

He does so now, and selfishly. Joseph is out of breath, eyes closed in euphoria, and all Jack wants to do is kiss him into oblivion – feel the press of Joseph's lips under his, warm and soft and moist, a gentle brush of the tongue, the light nip of teeth – and the universe can just fucking wait for once. The war, the crown, the clubs, his family, none of them matter as long as he has this; not for now, anyway.

"Ja- Jack," Joseph pants out when he can, hands on the prince's shoulders, pushing feebly. "Just – can I – breathe?"

"Overrated," Jack declares, but begins kissing his way down Joseph's jaw instead.

"Is everything okay?"

"Hm?" He traces the shell of Joseph's ear with his tongue, sucks lightly on his earlobe.

"You seem a little… desperate?" Jack stops. "I'm not complaining, but if something's bothering you…" Joseph trails off as Jack pushes himself away, sinking onto the bed beside him. "Is there?"

When wasn't there, is the more appropriate question. But what is he supposed to tell Joseph? Does he tell him about the brutality of war that's beginning to seep into his dreams? Or the increasingly dull litany of dinners and presentations he's expected to attend whilst not on the front lines? What about the way his mother suffocates him with devotion even as she forces him this way and that to make him her perfect prince? And dare he even think of the pressure from his father, from the King, to do him proud – to do right by the throne of Benjamin?

Jack sniffs, then sits up. "Nothing I can't handle." He pulls on his boxers before heading into the bathroom. Joseph's eyes are on him as he walks around the bed, and he resolutely ignores them for fear of succumbing to the desire to drown in his kisses again – to that frightening desperation. The bathroom light is too bright, and he barely feels the water he splashes on his face, missing the cold bite he needs right now. But leaning on the edge of the basin, avoiding lifting his eyes up to the mirror, Jack slowly changes his mind. Cold, he is familiar with – the best lies are forged out of ice, as sharp as broken glass but as smooth as porcelain under the hand. Shadows, too, hold no warmth in their darkened planes, and while the camera flash stings the eye (the camera never lies? Bullshit – the camera knows exactly when you lie, and lies along with you) the following absence of light chills the very blood in your veins. Not tonight, the Prince decides.

He leaves the bathroom, turning off the light behind him. On the bed Joseph already looks downcast, the sheets pulled up to his chest, and Jack takes a moment to stare at him and evaluate what he feels; no desperate desires, no lick of anticipation, no pooling of lust… but guilt. Guilt that he's the one who makes this good, innocent man look so blissful one moment and so utterly forlorn the next. Well, like he always says – what's the point in having power if you don't use it?

"Move over."

Joseph looks up sharply as Jack lifts up the corner of the duvet. "What?"

"I said move."

He moves, and Jack climbs in behind him. "What are you…?"

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Going to sleep. What does it look like?"

Joseph blinks. "Sleep?"

"Yes."

"… Here?"

"No, your laundry basket." The mattress is warm, the pillows soft. Joseph is both. They're surrounded by darkness, but there's not a lie between them (there is a difference between lying and withholding information. There is). In fact, there's nothing between them at all, Joseph having shifted backwards against Jack so they fit together comfortably. Then he keeps wriggling. "If you're trying to get me to go again, you should know this is having the opposite effect."

He chuckles. "No, I'm not. I just can't believe you're actually staying. I'm worried I'll wake up and you'll be gone again."

"Depends what time you wake up."

"Hm. So, is this going to be a regular thing?"

"Not if you won't let me sleep."

Joseph falls silent. Jack feels him entwine their fingers, and lets him. "Why are you staying?"

"If I tell you, will you be quiet?"

"Yes."

No lies. "… It's warm here. And I don't want to go home yet. I'm…" Not ready. Not ready for the cold, the cameras, family, or war. Even if he has to hide in shadows for the rest of his life, frozen by his lies, tonight the universe will wait.

"Stay as long as you want."

If only.


End file.
